


If My Eyes Were to Linger

by HQ_Wingster



Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Fluff, Gentleness, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heart-to-Heart, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, Late at Night, M/M, Prose Poem, Short & Sweet, Sleepiness, Stress Relief, Tenderness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: If your own life was written out and it was as heavy as a pocketbook, wouldn’t you be curious of what you would find — past the yellowing frays that began with a line? And let us assume you’re ensnared within its grasp and that you’re pouring through the pages, the words prickly in your hands, what would you read if you could linger here for a while? What would be the first thing you’d see if you were to open this tentatively?If in his hands were that book and if it was written for just himself, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he had opened up to this:‘You’ll find another, roughly about your same age. Someone mild, beautiful; someone you’ll whisper all your days. Someone who’ll tremble at your fervor, someone who’ll crave for your touch, someone whose eyes are like a poem that you could wander in for a while. And someone to melt for and to melt to—every time you see them smile.’
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Chasing Covers & Finding You [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100486
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	If My Eyes Were to Linger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feu_Eau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feu_Eau/gifts), [somuchanemoia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchanemoia/gifts).



> After reading around 350k+ words (of drarry fics) during the past three weeks, I knew I would write something for them in one way or another. So here it is and here I am, and I have to thank my friend, Feu for nudging me to do this and for my friend, Sam for being here with me at every step of the way. I have a soft spot for this pairing and I have room to write some more **^^**
> 
> Generals → I have a creative background in music and poetry, so you’ll see that influence here as you’re going through the story. Mostly because rhymes and rhythms makes writing more interesting for me **:3c**

If someone were to ask if he had found his key to happiness, if he had found that  _ one thing _ that made his past a little worth it, he’d simply point towards his belt and you’d find a ring of keys. Because he found it naïve to attribute that from a singular thing.

Because say — if something were to fail or if he had lost it forever, he wouldn’t crumble to the ground for the rest made up for it. It was redundancy at its smallest, but he wouldn’t take it for granted. For he was aware of the pegs and the ways one could fall if below them was nothing, not a safety net to hold on to. Or in his case, a key: followed by another and much more until he had an infinite amount of doors that he could unlatch to break his fall. These were almost like horcruxes, but they multiplied through good intentions or through the memories of another or through the actions he had done himself. And if he were to give you his ring, there was no mistaking any of it. You could see clearly what he cherished and what made him truly happy.

Like the crisp of a green apple, off the coattails of a summer, picked from a tree of golden reds and washed beneath a sunset; like the roar of a lightning cloud and the rain that would pitter, soon the hisses of a kettle would accompany the orchestra; like the yellowing of a book, bound in wax and leather, while sprawled along an evergreen and reading beside his partner; like the fingers that would wander and would straighten out his front, taking care so he looked as handsome as he always was; like the flush born from laughter and from the breaths tickling his ear, luring him further from reservation so he could smile from ear-to-ear; and like the green that would accent a set of pearly red cheeks when he was looked at with such fondness, and Draco swore he had to be dreaming. But he wasn’t and that was fact whenever he drifted out from sleep.

Because nuzzling beside him or hovering from a pillow, holding him firmly or just holding him in general, would be Harry — just Harry. Except for the way he made him feel was anything but ordinary, and every antonym for that word just didn’t strike him as intensely.

_ ‘Unusual’  _ had come close but the intent, not at all.  _ ‘Unique’  _ was a little better, but it suggested distance between them both.  _ ‘Exceptional’  _ was for food, good drinks and actions; not for people and for those you loved and for those who mattered and who you needed the most.  _ ‘Extraordinary’  _ was a contender, but it was too fiery on his tongue. Harry himself would agree and would comment it was rather rough. And so, they were left without a word to make this of, but it didn’t matter to them since they knew what this was. There was no need to label what was synonymous with happiness, and this was latched onto that ring Draco carried beside himself. And you could argue it wasn’t a key; but rather, the holder for them all. Much as how a latch pin would keep a bomb from detonating, this label or lack thereof promised security in the fortunes of affection. And that security was none other than reverence and moving on, merely pretty words for forgiveness when they were gifted to who he was. And that affection was none other than patience and love: there was once a time when it was foreign, but not so when he woke up.

As he drifted beneath the thunder and was aroused from his nook, the first thing he was aware of were the aches pinching his side. Jabbing inward like a knife before twisting with delight, this was Draco’s little reminder of why couch reading was uncomfortable. In that the cushions were a lie and the comfiness moreso — it was like drinking a pint of wine before your hangover caught up; except he didn’t wake with a headache, but with a stiffness up his spine. And  _ ugh _ , it traveled and danced behind his neck while he inched about for something to relieve him of this crick. But upon moving, he became aware of what else was sprawled around him and that he wasn’t alone in this precarious situation.

In that first, it was nightfall; that second, he had fallen asleep; that third, he knew the second because of the pain beneath his skin; that fourth, he had fallen with a book within his grasp; that fifth, those pages had found a home beyond his hands; that sixth, he was nosing down the yellowing of its spine because it flopped onto his face when he kicked back for the night; that seventh, the telly was flickering in the background, meaning that Harry was still up and was watching beside him; that eighth, he confirmed it when he felt a warmth right next to him, Harry curled a little closer when Draco moved but an inch; that ninth, he was asleep; that tenth, he confirmed it upon drawing down his book and squinting out into the darkness, briefly blinded by a commercial before he settled upon his boyfriend.

Where exactly as he left him — give or take a few inches — snoring softly into the couch was none other than Harry Potter. And he had it better and comfier than what Draco had woken from: perhaps, he’d wake without a crick while his boyfriend searched for Paracetamol. But at the moment, that could wait and it didn’t matter as he snuggled him. He took care of his movements so that Harry wouldn’t wake, stirring ever-slightly and pivoting with his aches so he could hold his great bundle and have him curl against his chest. Within his arms were the best and within his legs if he could when Draco wrapped them over his partner, tucking Harry a little closer. And like a puppy or an Auror and a tired one at that, Harry twitched in his sleep but didn’t move after that.

Unless the rise of a breath and the settling of a snore or the dangling of his spectacles could be attributed with that. Unless the curls and another as he slowly shuffled back, meeting Draco with where he was, could be defined as movement. And unless the fingers, how they wandered and how they found his beside him now: if he hadn’t woken when he did, it’d be a miracle if he could feel this now. Because as warm as they were as they skimmed along his skin, tickling the underside and skating down a callus, they were featherlight to the touch. But he could discern them through the buzz that was numbing his arm because trickling down his nerves was love within the dark.

It made the aches invisible; it made the cricks disappear; it made the frustrations he had more palpable to bear. Especially when he softened because it didn’t hurt to watch, as Draco traced what he adored from the man beside him. Or were he honest in his assessment as he admired his boyfriend, the little smile Harry wore had made this worth it to him. And while he loved every one and was weak at the sight of them, he had a soft spot for this one and the particulars that accompanied it. Because it was the kind you could find on a Kneazle when it purred, when it was on the search for comfort and had found it beside a hearth, nuzzling as it laid and kneading out with its paws while it softly closed its eyes and was the happiest you could ever find it. And were he a poet or a writer, that was how he’d describe it when that smile was illuminated with the glow from the telly. And the hushed voices of a family made it sweeter to be seen.

Because bleeding from this smile was a shameless vulnerability: the kind you’d trace from another when they were soft with all their being, aware that there was nothing that could harm them or perturb them from being happy. And for a man who had sought to keep living, to keep breathing, in spite of everything that had crumbled or had decayed within his life, this was the ring that held his every key to happiness. Or you could argue it wasn't a ring; but rather, a key in itself. Because the splash of chemicals now coursing through his blood, sprawling warmth and catharsis because he found where he belonged, made him happier and brighter whenever he wore this gesture.

And this one in particular was synonymous with home, flushing Draco a little pinker as he nuzzled into Harry’s form. Because his contentment took the shape of the man within his arms and with every day, he could say this made him better than who he was.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)
> 
> I have a few ideas on the queue for some of my future works for this pairing, and I can’t wait for y’all to read them once 2021 ‘rounds the corner~!
> 
> Post-Writing Thoughts → I find that when breaking into a new fandom or a new pairing (especially), writing a sleepy cuddle fic helps me get from the pool side and into the water.


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